Heroic Page 13

  But, surprisingly enough, he hadn’t. After his first outburst, he’d come back and apologized, sat long enough with a cup of tea for Mum to put his outburst down to a long journey and a mountain of stress.

  Looked like he’d saved up the big amounts of crazy for me in the middle of the night. God knows what was in store from him next.

  ‘So do you think he’s all right, then?’

  ‘I would imagine he’s feeling pretty awful, especially to miss Tommo’s ceremonies like he did. I just don’t think we should push him, or ask too much about what happened. If he wants to tell us, he will. Let’s give him time to get his feet under the table, realize he’s home instead of there.’

  I know I should’ve told her about the stuff that went on later. If ever there was a time, that was probably it. But to see her with it all so straight in her head, and knowing that it was only two weeks before he was off again? Well, I wasn’t that heartless, despite what you might think of me. I had to chalk it up to over-tiredness or grief or whatever.

  ‘Where is he anyway? He not eating?’

  ‘Said he already had. Then he nipped out for a walk.’

  ‘A walk? Has he forgotten where he lives? It’s hardly the Dales, is it?’

  ‘Listen, we’ve no idea what it’s been like for him. By the look on his face this morning, your brother’s clearly missed it here. Maybe he wanted to catch up with the others, or Cam, I don’t know. He probably has a lot to talk to them about.’

  My stomach tightened at the thought of him seeing Cam without me. She wouldn’t come clean on her own – would she? I could imagine the grief I’d get from Jamm if he reckoned I was hiding behind her.

  I grabbed a wedge of sandwiches and slurped some tea that my throat wasn’t ready for. ‘I should go and find him,’ I gasped. ‘See you in a bit.’

  ‘Don’t be disappearing for the rest of the day. I’ll be cooking for us all later.’

  ‘All of us? Den and Wiggy might already have plans.’

  Her lips tightened. ‘Don’t be bringing those clowns round here tonight. They might think they live here, but your brother needs some time while he’s home to relax. Tonight’s about the three of us.’

  I nodded and smiled. Balancing the sarnies in one hand and my trainers in the other, I left her to her plans of a cosy family reunion.

  The Ghost buzzed as I walked and ate. Stuff passed from palm to palm. The place was the same as always, unlike the brother who’d come back to it. Easing my neck around in small circles, I was desperate to talk to him about it, check he was all right, but then I had Mum’s voice in my ear, telling me not to overload him with questions. And anyway, if he was that stressed, what was he capable of doing when he was awake instead of asleep?

  It was stupid, I know, he was my brother, but after the funeral I was feeling properly ragged. So much so that I craved some company. I felt myself reaching for my phone and texting the lads.

  JAMM’S HOME

  No exclamation or smiley faces, just a demand to meet me by the statue as soon as possible. Both came back to me in seconds. It wasn’t like I had to pull them out of board meetings. Their diaries were generally as empty as a skaghead’s wallet.

  They arrived together, eyeing my sandwich enviously.

  ‘When did he get back?’ Wiggy asked, blowing celebratory smoke rings.

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘And you didn’t call us?’ moaned Den.

  ‘It was late … and he was, er, tired, you know.’

  How did you word it, when you didn’t understand it yourself?

  Questions followed, loads of them. Most of which I had no answers to.

  How was he? Was he back for good? Did he mention Tomm and what had happened?

  By the time their mouths closed, my head was spinning.

  ‘Look, I don’t know all this, do I? He was knackered when he got in and a bit … lairy.’

  ‘Lairy? What do you mean?’ asked Wiggy.

  ‘I don’t know, do I? It probably had a bit to do with his best mate dying on him. Tends to weigh on your mind, that sort of stuff.’

  Den could see I was stressed out and pulled Wiggs into line with a cuff to the back of his head.

  ‘He’ll be all right, Sonny. Just give him time. You didn’t mention Hitch, did you?’

  Hitch. I hadn’t even thought to mention what had gone on there. Couldn’t imagine how Jamm might react, apart from blaming me for it.

  I felt like screaming. There was too much going on. I didn’t have a clue if I could juggle it all without going completely mad myself.

  Sonny

  We wandered for ages. Looked in all the obvious places: the shops, caff, statue, but there was no sign of him. We even tried Cam’s flat, despite the chance of interrupting the most difficult conversation imaginable.

  How would Larry react to seeing Jamm in the flesh?

  How would Jamm react if Cam let slip about us?

  I knew he’d see it as a betrayal, but I needed to be there myself. At least then I could tell him the truth.

  Anyway, all the wondering was pointless: the door was locked and the flat silent. Cam’s mobile went to answerphone and she didn’t call back.

  My head threw up stupid thoughts, remembering her face when I came in with my bleached hair, the comment about looking just like Jamm. I hoped the sight of him in person didn’t make her realize she’d picked the wrong brother.

  The thought got to me, making me irritable, especially by late afternoon, when people started coming up to me, congratulating me about Jamm. It was weird. With some it was just a nod; others wanted to shake my hand, tell me that I must be proud, how much I had to live up to.

  I hadn’t a clue how to react. Course I was proud of him – what he’d done was amazing, typical of everything he was – but I was torn too.

  Spending sixteen years being ‘not as good as Jammy’ was bad enough, but usually I was only having those conversations with myself. Now it was happening with the majority of the estate.

  What would tomorrow bring? A billboard with our faces on it, a red cross through mine and a tick next to his?

  All right, I was being paranoid. But why were so many people wanting a piece of him all of a sudden?

  The answer came when we looped back to Mr De Mel’s shop and saw the newsboard for the paper outside. The headline told it all.

  WAR HEROES COME HOME

  Word was out there. People knew what had happened.

  The article was the usual local rag stuff. How proud they were about the town’s involvement in the war and the turnout at the repatriation, but they hadn’t bothered speaking to anyone who really mattered. They went on about Tommo growing up on the Ghost, but there was no comment from his mum or Cam. If they’d’ve asked Larry, he’d have demanded beer money, so maybe it was just as well.

  They led with two grainy headshots that must have come from army records. They didn’t even bother to put their names underneath, just a brief caption per soldier. Under Tommo’s it read: KILLED IN ACTION. Could you believe that? Did they have to be so cold? Did Cam need that line to really up her grieving? Unbelievable.

  For Jammy it was different: HERO was stamped beneath his photo. It matched the intensity on his face, a look that said no Afghan terrorist was going to get past him.

  The report made sure there was no doubt about Jammy’s actions. Went into depth about the ferocity of the firefight, the courage they showed despite the lives being lost. Thirty insurgents against two soldiers.

  If there was one thing to be grateful for, it was the lack of information about Tomm’s shooting. They praised his intelligence in tracking down the heart of the terrorist cell, but offered no details of the sniper attack that wounded him. Instead they focused on Jammy’s bravery under fire.

  ‘Our local hero not only managed to repel the rebels, killing one in the process, but also tried valiantly to resuscitate his best friend. He did not leave Private Thompson’s side until other members of his unit reached the
m, too late to offer medical assistance.’

  The paper called for both of the men to be honoured by the town, stating the paper was planning a campaign of its own to further the cause.

  My heart sank. Not because it wasn’t what Jammy deserved. If the details were right, they should fly a flag with his face on from the top of the highest block. What worried me was what he would do when he saw it. A mention from his own mother about being a hero had sent him off on one. I didn’t know what he’d do when a whole town started to congratulate him instead.

  I didn’t have to wait long to find out. By the time we’d all read and re-read the article, wiping at rogue bits of dust that were making our eyes water, we spotted him walking across the estate, hands thrust into his pockets.

  There were probably two hundred metres between us and him, but after five minutes he was only about thirty paces closer. With every step he was greeted by a new face, another handshake, someone desperate to tell him they’d read his story in the paper.

  The only time his pace changed was when he approached the statue of the soldiers; with a brief gap between locals he pushed his chin into the front of his hoodie and powered on. His eyes never left the ground from that moment until the statue was behind him. It was a small thing to notice, and I doubt the others even saw it, but it was significant to me, especially when he straightened up once out of its shadow.

  The banter began: Wiggy dashing towards him demanding his autograph, Den struggling to match his pace. My pulse quickened, worrying how he’d react to them, but to my relief I saw Jamm’s face fall into a wide smile, squeezing Wiggs affectionately as they embraced. Den didn’t even bother letting Wiggy move out of the way, sandwiching him as he hugged Jammy too. There was deafening laughter and so much relief that I wanted a piece of it. With a running jump I launched myself on top of them: Tomm and Hitch might have been missing, but we had to celebrate however we could.

  It didn’t take long before my weight sent everyone to the ground, Wiggs whimpering from the middle of the pile. After a lot of wailing everyone rolled away and let him fill up with air, the look of delight returning to his face when he saw Jamm again.

  ‘Gave us a shock, you did,’ Wiggs gasped.

  ‘How do you think it was for me?’ Jamm was clearly saving his best mood for the lads.

  ‘We’re just glad you’re home,’ blushed Den, never usually one for emotional outbursts. ‘Missed, you were. Both of you.’

  The vague mention of Tommo drove smiles off faces and left us all gasping for what to say next. Fortunately another Jammy fan-boy saved us the bother.

  ‘I saw what you did in the paper,’ the guy said with a swagger. He was probably late thirties, tattoos crowding every inch of skin. ‘You should be proud.’

  I turned to Jamm, who managed a smile between clenched teeth.

  ‘Want a smoke?’ the man offered, obviously wanting to get into conversation. Jamm accepted reluctantly, before Wiggs decided to have some fun.

  ‘Er, hang on there. You can’t go around offering the talent your cigarettes. I’m his representative. Twenty per cent of everything comes my way. You want a piece of him, you talk to me first.’ He’d tacked on what I guessed was a New York accent, like he was some big-shot dealmaker.

  The guy looked at him like he was mental, then turned again to Jammy.

  ‘Anyway. Take care, son. People round here won’t forget what you did.’ And as he walked away he motioned to the statue, which brought a wince to Jammy’s face.

  ‘Let’s get inside, shall we?’ he said. ‘Somewhere I don’t have to listen to idiots like that.’

  ‘I’ve some cans back at mine,’ chipped in Den, which had me cringing. No way Jamm would be up for getting smashed. There was nothing to celebrate.

  But I was wrong again.

  ‘Perfect.’ And with a turn straight from his drills we were marching back to Den’s. We all had a thirst on, but from Jammy’s pace, we were in no doubt whose throat was the driest.

  Sonny

  Jamm swallowed a burp before letting his can join the others on the floor.

  It took effort to lean forward and grab another one, but it didn’t stop him draining half of it in one go. I thought about moving the box of beers closer to him, or maybe just setting up a drip into his arm. Anything to make the process easier.

  ‘A few beers’ had turned into a session, with Den dispatched to fetch more when the first case ran out. And now, four hours in, we were close to running dry again. Well, we were if the alcohol-coma didn’t grab us first.

  For once, though, the thought of getting legless didn’t float my boat. Not like it did my brother’s.

  Jammy was no angel, it wasn’t like he didn’t let go or blow off steam like the rest of us, but late-afternoon benders weren’t usually his thing. He preferred to drink over a card game, reckoned it gave him the edge when it came to clearing us out of whatever cash we had.

  It wasn’t like this session was filling him with the joys of spring either. There was banter – how could there not be with Wiggy in the room? – but there was also an uneasy feeling among us. We all had questions we wanted to ask, but nobody really had the balls to put them out there. Wiggs had asked the normal ridiculous stuff at first: How many bodies did you see? Did you go in a tank, or parachute anywhere?

  Jamm fobbed him off with answers that gave nothing away.

  ‘Parachute? No, but I did bungee jump behind enemy lines. Gives you the real element of surprise, that does.’

  Wiggs howled, not knowing after four cans of cheap, strong lager whether he was hearing the truth or not. Nothing really mattered to him as long as he was laughing.

  Den was at the other end of the spectrum. Tomm’s death had ripped at him harder than I’d thought, so every question he fired linked into that.

  He wanted to know if the medics had tried to revive him, and how long for. How did they move his body with all the fighting around him? It was like he had to know the details to move on; to his credit, Jamm answered every one. I watched him fidget and squirm as he spoke, breaking up each answer with a long pull from his can. I wondered if the words would’ve come at all without the help of the beer.

  And as for me? Well, the questions were stacking up so high in my head that they’d already fallen over twice, leaving me to shuffle and re-sort them into order. But there was one that always found its way back to the top.

  ‘You been to see Cam yet?’ I tried to sound casual.

  He nodded as he drank. ‘Went this morning.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Do we have to talk about this now?’

  ‘Why not?’

  He put his can down on the arm of the chair and leaned clumsily forwards, looking confused.

  ‘Why is it so important that you know?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I said, although my reasons were actually purely selfish. ‘Because she’s our friend and Tomm was her brother. And because we had to stand there on the roadside next to her as they drove him past in a coffin.’

  I saw Jamm flinch but he didn’t back off. ‘Yeah, well, we all have to do things we don’t want to, don’t we?’

  I knew what he was getting at. That I’d never pulled my weight like him.

  Well, no one asked him to play the big man and sign up, did they?

  Normally I would’ve sucked it up and moved on, but with the beer sloshing around my head I got lazy, pushing myself off the settee and chucking my can at his feet. It was empty, but the message was the same.

  ‘What, like sitting here listening to you?’ I didn’t mean it, but my head was so mashed I couldn’t help it.

  ‘What is your problem, Sonny? I don’t get why me seeing Cam is causing you such grief.’

  I wanted to tell him about Cam and me, that we were tight, but I just wasn’t brave enough. Instead, the barriers went up and I laced into him.

  ‘I don’t care who you see. I just want you to
talk to me like you do everyone else. I’m not something you’ve stepped in, you know.’

  ‘You reckon? Cos right now, Sonny, your attitude stinks.’

  That was it, all I needed to get into his space.

  Within seconds we were chest to chest, arguing like a couple of kids, until Den forced his way between us using his bulk as a barrier.

  ‘What is it with you?’ He wasn’t finding being the meat in the sandwich easy, so blamed me. ‘Your brother’s just come home, you idiot. Back off!’

  ‘Oh aye, that’s right. It’s always me causing the trouble, isn’t it? Always me being aggressive. Well, why don’t you ask him about last night, then? Ask him to explain what he did.’

  ‘Why, what went on?’

  ‘I lamped him,’ interrupted Jamm. ‘The idiot lost his keys and broke in, so I decked him, thinking he was a burglar.’

  The one person finding all this funny was Wiggs, spluttering from behind his hand. ‘You knocked out your own brother?’

  ‘Wasn’t a patch on what I’ll do in a minute.’

  ‘Or what you did afterwards, eh?’ He’d pushed too far, I couldn’t help but bring up what happened when the lights had gone off.

  He looked confused. ‘What are you on about now?’

  I should’ve backed down, waited until we were on our own, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  ‘He nearly took my head off in the middle of the night. Was having some kind of weird dream and when I tried to sort him out he nearly strangled me to death.’

  Laughter wasn’t exactly the response I was after, but it was all I got: from all three of them.

  ‘Priceless,’ wailed Den. ‘That’s just what I’d do after shooting at the Taliban for months. Top of the list when I get home? Strangle my little brother!’

  ‘Go on, take his side. I knew you would. Just remember who’s kept you in beers for the last few months.’

  Den put me quickly back in my box.

  ‘Sonny, get a hold of yourself, you sound like a whinging kid. Can’t you just be pleased Jamm’s safe? For once stop trying to compete!’ He was backing me off now, away from Jamm. ‘And anyway, we can talk about things all you want. Talk about the stuff that didn’t quite go to plan as well if you like?’